


Halloween Cooties

by jsmith69



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Daryl can't say no, First Time, Happy Halloween, M/M, almost shower sex, bottom!daryl, top!rick, trick or treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 15:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmith69/pseuds/jsmith69
Summary: Of all the porches in the neighborhood, it had to be Hot Guy’s porch? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so embarrassed in his life. Even if he’d had the slightest chance before, which he hadn’t, this would be a deal-breaker for sure.





	Halloween Cooties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noonesangel_noonesbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noonesangel_noonesbitch/gifts).

> She's creepy and she's kooky, mysterious and spooky, she's altogether ooky - in the very best way! Still the she to my nanigans, my write-or-die, and lover of all things Halloween-y. Happiest Bornday to you, Peaches! And Happy Halloween!  
Jellybean <3 Peaches.
> 
> A big huge shout out to gneebee for turning a great bunny into a grand idea. :)

Daryl realizes that one of these days he’s going to have to learn to say no, but it looks like today is not that day.

If he’d said no he’d be at home on this Friday night. He’d be showered instead of still in his work clothes covered in grease and brake dust. His belly would be full of pork chops and potatoes, and he’d be on at least his second beer by now, instead of hitting the drive-thru for lukewarm burgers at the Freezie Queen. But most importantly, he wouldn’t be participating in Halloween. 

It’s not that he hates it. If kids want to dress up and run around collecting candy he’s all for letting them have their fun. However, living in the woods a couple of miles outside of town meant that he didn’t get trick or treaters, and not spending his night getting up and down to answer the door is perfectly okay with him. Merle and Carol are bringing their girl by and she’ll be the only trick or treater he has. 

He’s barely walked through the door and kicked off his boots, hasn’t even popped the cap off the beer in his hand, when his brother calls. 

“Hey, man. Y’all still comin’ by?”  
“Nah, we ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight. Me ‘n Carol both got us a bad case of the green apple nasties. I swear if one of us ain’t huggin’ the can we’re sittin’ on it. Feelin’ worse‘n hell.”  
“Sorry y’all are sick, brother, but I could do without the details. Y’all need anythin’?”  
“Matter a fact, I’s wonderin’ if ya’d mind doin’ us a favor?”

He could say no. He almost does, until he hears the soft crying and sniffling in the background. He’s pretty sure it’s mostly dramatic effect meant to convince him and it works. Because even if he isn’t wrapped firmly around her little finger there’s no way in hell he can say no to that. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

He parks behind Carol’s car and grabs the plastic jack-o-lanterns stuffed with candy off of the front seat. He’s barely reached the bottom porch step when the front door slams open and a tiny blur of pink and purple, all knees and elbows, comes flying out.

“Uncle Daaawyl!”

He sets the candy down just as she launches herself at him from the porch and although he catches her easily, he lets her think he’s going to drop her until she’s giggling uncontrollably. He hoists her up, her skinny arms and legs wrapping him in a tight hug. He hugs her back and kisses her firmly on the cheek, then pulls back and gives her a serious look that’s not really serious at all. 

“Izzy girl, ya gonna hurt yourself one a these days jumpin’ offa the porch like that.”  
“I’n not gonna get huwt ‘cause you always catch me,” the little girl says with a grin.  
“That right?” He pretends to drop her again and she giggles wildly. It’s clear they’ve had this conversation before. Suddenly she’s squirming in his arms and insisting, “Put me down! Put me down!” 

He puts her down and she scrambles up the porch steps, barely avoiding tripping over her skirt, then turns and poses as if she’s on a stage and twirls around. “Wook! I’n a pwetty pwincess!”

“Prettiest princess I ever seen.” 

And he’s not just indulging her. Her brown, curly hair, usually in pigtails, is piled in a bun on top of her head just behind a sparkly tiara. She’s wearing her pink leotard underneath an ankle-length skirt made up of strands of pink and purple, also sparkly, and he can see the toes of her pink ballet slippers peeking out. Carol has allowed her to wear just a bit of sparkly eye shadow and light pink lip gloss. She looks damn adorable.

Merle and Carol come out to the porch, Carol wrapped in a blanket and looking as weak as water, Merle as pale as he’s ever seen him. 

“Ya’ll look like ya been rode hard and put up wet,” Daryl says.  
“Always good ta see ya too, brother.”

Izzy clasps her hands together under her chin and bats her big blue eyes at him. “Are ya gonna take me twick or tweatin’, Uncle Dawyl? Are ya, pwease?”

More dramatic effect that’s completely unnecessary. She’s the apple of his eye and she knows it. Mostly because he tells her all the time. “Yeah, I’ma take ya.” He waves a finger at her costume. “Your sparklin’ an’ shinin’ enough we might not need a flashlight.”

She fluffs her skirt and spins around again. “Mama maked it wif tools.”  
“It’s tulle, honey, not tools,” her mama corrects her with a smile.

He gives Carol the orange buckets, one for Sophia and one for Izzy. Sophia is sixteen now and too old for trick or treating, according to her, but she still gets a bucket of candy from her Uncle Daryl. She’s the apple of his other eye. He straps Izzy’s booster seat in his truck while she gets her sweater on then waits while she promises her mama and daddy that she’ll remember to say ‘thank you’, and kisses them goodbye. They make him promise - twice - that he won’t let her fill up on candy before they get home (they act like he spoils her or something), then they’re on their way. 

She sits forward in her booster seat as far as she can manage, her head swiveling left to right and back again as fast as it will go so she doesn’t miss a single glowing jack-o-lantern or spooky decoration. Her feet tap the air in an anxious, irregular rhythm, and the smile hasn’t left her face. He thinks it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. Besides her, of course.

He and Merle had never participated in things like Halloween when they were kids. They hadn’t celebrated holidays and birthdays. Hell, there were times he was just grateful to see another birthday. Once they were grown it hadn’t occurred to them to start celebrating. Then Merle had gone and gotten married, surprising the hell out of both himself and Daryl. And if that weren’t surprising enough, you could have bought him for fifty cents when they told him Carol was pregnant.

If anyone had told the Dixon brothers four years ago that they would soon be attending tea parties, going to dance recitals, or taking a princess trick-or-treating they would have likely laughed them out of the state of Georgia. 

Yet here he is. 

He already loved Sophia as if she were Merle’s very own, but the first time Daryl had laid eyes on Isabella Caroline Dixon he’d known he was ruined. He’d immediately declared that Isabella was too big of a name for such a tiny little thing and she’d been Izzy ever since. 

He’d never thought too much about having a family of his own until Sophia and Izzy came along. Now, he figures if Merle can do it then maybe he can too. He’d like to have a husband, or at the very least a boyfriend, first but at almost 36 he has neither. He’s dated a couple of guys but neither lasted long. He’s had a few hookups but they’re not really his thing and he doesn’t care much for them. He’s not very good at that sort of thing anyway. For now, he’s content to be Uncle Daryl and take his princess trick or treating. 

He doesn’t suppose it matters much which neighborhood they go to, so he pulls into the first subdivision he comes to just as the daylight fades away. It’s an older neighborhood with Craftsman-style bungalows and single-story ranch homes with large yards and lots of space between them. He parks along the curb with several other cars and trucks figuring to walk down one side of the street and back up the other. It’s a lot of walking but he doesn’t mind. Besides, he suspects he’ll be carrying her for most of the night anyway. 

“This’s not your neighvorhood, Uncle Dawyl,” she informs him.  
“Neigh-_bor_-hood,” he corrects her.  
“Neigh-_vor_-hood,” she repeats.  
“Close enough,” he grins. “Ya know I don’t live in a neighborhood. I live in the woods,” he reminds her.  
“But we’re ‘posed to come twick-or-tweat at your house.”  
“Y’all were comin’ to my house so I could see your costume an’ give ya your candy, then your mama an’ daddy was takin’ ya trick-or-treatin’. Your mama and daddy are sick so I brought your candy to ya an’ I’m takin’ ya trick-or-treatin’, so ya ain’t gotta go to my house.” He’s sure her parents have already explained this to her, and he’s sure he’ll end up explaining it to her several more times before the night is over. 

When he opens her door to help her down she asks rather seriously, “Uncle Dawyl?”  
“Yeah, girl?”  
“Do ya know how to twick-or-tweat?”  
He nods. “‘Course I do.” He might have never done it himself but he thinks it’s a pretty simple concept. How hard can it be?

She tucks her tiny hand in his and uses it for balance as she jumps over all the lines in the sidewalk. When he occasionally hoists her up as she jumps she declares that she can jump higher than all the other princesses and of course he agrees. Halfway to the door of the first house she drops his hand, skips to the porch, and bounces up the steps. He waits at the bottom of the steps, grinning at her confident “Twick or tweat, pwease!” (he’s sure ‘trick or treat’ would suffice but Merle and Carol are strict about her using her manners so he doesn’t correct her). “Tank you!” When she turns to leave, she rushes to the steps with a big grin until she remembers and takes his hand for him to help her down. _“No porch jumpin’. That’s only for at home.”_

She’s always been a chatterbox and tonight is no different. She explains the plot of Frozen to him in detail (even though he’s watched it with her a hundred times), pauses when it’s time to collect candy, then picks up where she left off on the way to the next house. So it goes as they make their way down the street, and the conversation only takes a million different turns.

“Uncle Dawyl? When Elsa farts does it make snow?”  
“Nah, I don’t think that’s how her magic works.”

“I’n gonna be a mermaid when I gwow up. Mermaids are weal, ya know.”  
“Ya ever seen a mermaid?”  
“Nope. But somebody did, else how do we know what they look like?”

“How do mermaids go potty anyway?”  
“Ya remember that time ya peed in your pool?”  
“Yep.”  
“Like that.”  
“Eew! Gwoss!”  
“Yep.”

“Do fish have eyebwows?”  
“What in the world would fish do with eyebrows?”  
“Well, whadda we do wif eyebwows?”  
She’s got him there.

He never knew just how much he doesn’t know until he started hanging out with this kid. 

“Uncle Dawyl? Are ya gonna get mawwied? My mama an’ daddy got mawwied.”  
Shit. Where did that come from?  
“Maybe one day.” He’s hoping that’s the end of it but of course, that’s not the end of it.  
“I know, ya gotta have a boyfwiend first,” she points out matter-of-factly and makes a big production of jumping off the curb when they come to a side street. It wasn’t too long ago she’d asked him if he has a girlfriend. He had explained to her that he likes boys, not girls, and it hadn’t occurred to her to question it.  
“That’d help, wouldn’t it?” He’s about to change the subject back to fish eyebrows but she doesn’t give him a chance.  
“Jack, in my cwass, doesn’t have a girlfwiend or a boyfwiend. He uses his manners an’ he always cweans up his toys real good.” She lets go of his hand and holds her arms up. “Cawwy me?” She’s made it further than he thought she would he thinks as he picks her up and settles her on his hip. Her bag is almost half-full so he takes it from her to carry.  
“Well, Jack sounds real nice but don’t ya think I should find somebody a little closer to my age?”  
“Ya mean somebody old?”  
“Watch it, girl.” He gooses her side and she giggles.

“Daddy said I can’t be mawwied ‘til I’n old too.”  
He can’t argue with that.  
“Your daddy’s a smart man. That’s good advice.”  
“What’s adbice?”  
“Ad-_vice_,” he corrects her.  
“Ad-_bice_,” she repeats.  
“Close enough.” He thinks about it for a minute, because knowing what it means and explaining it to a four-year-old are two very different things.  
“It’s when somebody tells ya somethin’ to help ya make good choices.”  
“Oh. Daddy tells me somethin’ all the time.”  
“Yeah? What does he tell ya?”  
She taps her finger on her chin as she thinks. “He tells me don’t pee on ‘lectwic fences!”  
Daryl chuckles at that. “Well, that’s real good advice. What does your mama tell ya?”  
“She tells me never to pull daddy’s finger.” He laughs out loud as only she can make him do.

With one side of the street done, including a couple of cul-de-sacs, they cross to the other side. He can tell she’s getting tired and he’s not sure she’ll make it to every house between here and the truck. Her bag isn’t going to hold much more candy, even with what he’s already let her eat. Halfway up this side, she’s stopped talking altogether and he keeps expecting to look down and find her asleep. Her tiara keeps trying to slip off her head as if it’s too tired to go much further either. He asks her if she’s ready to go on home and she looks at him with wide eyes.

“No! I wanna go to more houses! Pwease?”  
“Okay, there’s a few more. Jus’ lemme know if ya get too tired.”

He has got to learn to say no.

At the next house, he side-eyes the King County Sheriff’s Department cruiser parked in the driveway and he almost wishes the porch light wasn’t on. It’s a knee-jerk reaction from way back when and besides, trick or treating isn’t illegal. He puts her down on the porch and straightens her tiara, again, then steps back to wait with her. 

When the door finally opens he forgets all about mermaids and fish eyebrows. There’s a good chance he’s forgotten his own name. He wonders if it’s possible to make trick or treating at least a misdemeanor. Images of being patted down, thoroughly, and a few other things that might actually be illegal flit through his head before he can stop them. He presses his tongue firmly against the roof of his mouth, worried he might swallow it if he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand it because he’s never had this kind of gut-punch reaction to any man, ever. Then again, they weren’t this man and he simply can’t help it. 

The bluest eyes he’s ever seen, set in the most handsome face he’s ever seen, are staring back at him and the man doesn’t look away. Daryl’s not sure he’s even seen Izzy yet, and he’s sure glad his niece is the one doing the talking because he has no clue what to say or do. He’s pretty sure Jack from Izzy’s class could handle this better which is precisely why he’s still single. 

There’s not a chance in hell that’s going to change tonight either, regardless of the indecent thoughts he’s having about this guy right now. No matter how much he thinks that this is the one guy he wishes he had the balls to ask out, he’s well aware that he’s so far out of his league he may as well be on another planet. 

His niece, who he’s ashamed to admit he’s forgotten is standing there for a second, and who must sense that her uncle is about to make a complete fool of himself, finally says, “Twick or tweat, pwease.”

The man turns to Izzy and a wide, heart-stopping grin spreads across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling just right. “Well, aren’t you the prettiest princess King County has ever seen?”

The words roll off of his tongue hypnotic and smooth, warming Daryl’s insides like a double shot of whiskey. He knows full well what that warmth really is and he’s not sure when he started thinking in metaphors, wasn’t aware he even knows what a metaphor is, but he can’t think about any of that right now. Mostly because he can barely think.

He drops two pieces of candy in her bag and when she sees what it is she lets out a tiny gasp. “_Two_ Kisses, Uncle Dawyl! Your bery faborite! Ya can have one if ya want.”

Daryl grins down at her and before she can say thank you the man reaches back into the bowl and drops two more in her bag. “Well, if they’re his favorite then he should have his own Kisses.” 

_Be real careful what ya wish for, dude_ Daryl thinks, even though he’s sure that he’s the only one wishing for that.

He might be talking to Izzy but he’s looking directly at Daryl again. His head is tilted just a little and one corner of his mouth is curled up so slightly that it barely qualifies as a grin. These are the kinds of signs that he’s never known how to read so he could be way off base, but he would almost swear this guy is looking at him like he’s the pretty princess. Which is ridiculous because he knows exactly what the man is seeing: a redneck in greasy work clothes and worn-out boots, hair a dirty mess, and now that he thinks about it he doesn’t think he wiped the smudge of brake dust off his face. Nice. 

He swallows thickly and somehow manages to nod and utter a quiet but clear _thank ya_. Maybe he’ll leave there with a little bit of his dignity after all.

Except he won’t. 

“Uncle Dawyl!”

He’s pretty sure it’s not the first time she’s called his name if her tone or the way she’s tugging on his hand is any indication. When he looks down her eyes are wide and they’re tearing up.

“Uncle Dawyl?” she repeats. There’s a slight edge of panic in her small voice and her bottom lip starts to tremble like she’s going to cry. He has no clue why and he doesn’t get a chance to ask, because suddenly she leans over and whatever she had for supper comes up and out, splattering her skirt and slippers, his boots, and the porch. 

Her face is a pitiful mixture of shock and distress and then she’s crying for real. He doesn’t even want to look at the other man’s face to see what he’s thinking but he’s saved from that when he disappears into the house and the door closes behind him. He half expects the porch light to go out as he kneels down beside her and pulls the rag out of his back pocket. It’s not the best option but it’s the only one he’s got.

The light stays on, and the man is back pretty quickly with a roll of paper towels. He gives Daryl a couple then pulls off several more to lay over the mess on the porch. 

He wipes her face and speaks softly “Shh, now. It’s a’right, sweetheart. You’re okay.” Clearly, she’s not okay but he doesn’t know what else to say. After a minute she stops crying and gets very quiet and he’s relieved that the crisis has passed. Until she says in a very small voice, “Uh oh.” 

Daryl scrambles quickly to his feet but he doesn’t get her to the edge of the porch before she throws up again. Now it’s on her leotard and her sweater, and he sees that his right knee is wet with it because he wasn’t paying attention when he squatted down beside her the first time. 

He sighs inwardly. Of all the porches in the neighborhood, it had to be Hot Guy’s porch? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so embarrassed in his life. Even if he’d had the slightest chance before, which he hadn’t, this would be a deal-breaker for sure. He knows that makes him sound like an asshole and he’s angry with himself for even thinking it. She can’t help it. Of course taking care of her is his first concern. It’s just embarrassing is all. 

He finally summons the nerve to look at the guy. “Shit I’m real sorry, man. I didn’t know she’s sick. If ya got a hose or a bucket or somethin’ I’ll get this cleaned up for ya.” 

He casually waves the offer away and starts tearing off more towels and laying them over the new mess. He doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled that there is puke all over his porch. “Nothin’ to be sorry about. Let’s get her cleaned up first and I’ll worry about this later.” 

“Nah, my truck’s parked there at the end of the street, I can take her home. I ain’t leavin’ ya to clean all this up though.” 

“Do you really want to put her in your truck like that? It’ll stink to high heaven by the time you get her home. It happens, I don’t mind, really. Y’all come on in.” 

He could say no, he knows he could. She’s his to take care of. He could wipe up the mess the best he can, thank the guy, take Izzy to her mama and daddy, and take what’s left of his pride and go on home. But he’s got a point, he’d rather his truck not smell like puke. So he takes Izzy’s hand and they follow him into the house. 

“Be right back,” he says and disappears down the hall, leaving Daryl and Izzy standing in the living room. 

The room is sparsely furnished, with only a loveseat and a recliner, two small tables, and a TV. On either side of the small fireplace are built-in bookshelves full of books and framed photographs. His heart sinks a little when even across the room he can see that several of the photos are of an older boy and a small girl, and there is a pink dollhouse standing in the corner. Shit, he’s been so distracted by how hot the guy is that it hasn’t occurred to him that he’s a family man. He figures it also explains why he’s so calm about puke all over his porch. This probably isn’t his first rodeo. 

On top of being embarrassed, he’s feeling pretty stupid.

The man comes back with clothes in his hand. “I’ll show ya where the bathroom is. Ya can put these on her.” He hands Daryl the clothes. “My daughter’s a little bigger than her so they won’t fit well, but they’re clean.” 

Izzy lets out something between a whine and a squeak and clamps her hand over her mouth. This time it’s the other man who scoops her up and he races down the hall leaving Daryl no choice but to follow. He’s a bit impressed when the man hits the light switch with his elbow and gets her to the toilet just as she gets sick again. Shit, he couldn’t even get her to the end of the porch. Definitely not his first rodeo. 

Daryl goes to her side and rubs her back. He tucks the fine curls that have escaped the bun behind her ears and plucks the tiara off of her head, setting it on the counter. The man wets a washcloth and hands it to him, then leaves the room while Daryl wipes her face and her mouth, then gets her out of her dirty costume and into a pair of soft cotton pajamas. The guy’s right, they swallow her whole but they’re clean.

He comes back in with a plastic bag and while Daryl puts her dirty clothes in it the man gets another wet washcloth and begins to wipe off her slippers. 

“I can get that, you don’t gotta.” 

He smiles and keeps wiping. “It’s alright. You see to her.”

He’s worried about Izzy, he’s suddenly tired, and he doesn’t feel like arguing so he doesn’t. He lets him finish and tries not to think about how awkward he feels standing so close to this handsome stranger in the small bathroom. He tries not to notice how good he smells or the way the man keeps smiling softly at him.

He hands him her shoes and Daryl slips them on her feet. By now Daryl is feeling flush all over and he’s quite relieved to follow him out of the small space and back to the living room.

He settles Izzy on his hip and she winds her arms tighter around his neck. “I want my mama,” she says.

“I know ya do, I’ma take ya to her.” He steps out onto the porch and turns back to the man. “I can’t thank ya enough for your help. I’ll get this stuff back to ya quick as I can. Lemme clean this up for ya ‘fore we go,” he offers again as he motions at the mess on the porch.

“Ya heard her, she wants her mama. I’ve got it, really. I won’t take a minute to hose it off.” He picks up Izzy’s trick or treat bag from the porch and hands it to Daryl. “Bring it by whenever, there’s no hurry. You can bring it by the station if that’s easier.”

“A’right. Izzy girl, whaddaya say to the nice man?”  
“Tank you, nice man.”  
The man grins and pats her shoulder. “You’re welcome, Izzy. I hope you feel better real soon.”

He’s looking at him like that again, like he’s the pretty princess, and Daryl wishes he’d stop because he knows he’s not out of the woods yet. He’s been lucky so far, well, other than the whole puke fiasco, but there’s still time for him to make a fool of himself. 

Izzy does it for him, in her own sweet way.

“Uncle Dawyl?”  
“Yeah, girl?”  
“Do I got the gween apple nasties?”

Dammit, Merle. The man looks amused but Daryl is mortified.

“Prob’ly, but just ‘cause your daddy says that don’t mean you should.”  
Just so the nice man knows she didn’t learn that from him.  
“Can I say cooties?”  
“Yeah, ya can say cooties.” 

“Thank ya again...uh…” He pauses when it occurs to him that he doesn’t know the man’s name, although he doesn’t suppose folks normally introduce themselves to trick or treaters. Then again, most trick or treaters probably don’t throw up on their front porch either.

“I’m Rick. Rick Grimes,” he says and offers his hand to shake. Daryl reaches out, mostly ignoring the small flutter in his belly when he takes it.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

He gets her home and carries her inside. She’d fallen asleep almost before he’d pulled out of the subdivision. He tells Carol what happened while Merle takes her and tucks her in. He makes sure they don’t need anything and promises to call tomorrow to check on her.

It’s almost ten when he finally gets home. He showers quickly and makes himself a sandwich. Although he’s worn out and has to be up early in the morning to open the garage he lays awake for a long time. Just thinking about what happened has him embarrassed all over again, but mostly he can’t stop thinking about the Hot Guy. The Nice Man. Rick.

He wonders what it would be like to be with a guy like that. One minute he’s remembering how he went out of his way to help them, trying to psych himself up to take a chance, the next minute he’s reminding himself that the guy is a cop after all, and a dad. He would’ve done the same for anybody. In the end, he decides that the only chance he has is the chance to be rejected.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s never needed an alarm to wake up and never has that been truer than the following morning. His stomach wakes him up just before sunrise and has him running for the bathroom before his eyes are even open. An hour later he’s willing to concede that he’s got his own case of the green apple nasties and he calls Jim to have him open the garage, then calls Ozzie to see if he can go help Jim. He spends half the morning on the toilet and half of that time hugging the trash can. He’s miserable. He can’t remember the last time he felt this bad and he hopes Izzy isn’t as sick as he is.

It’s mid-morning before he can stay out of the bathroom long enough to call and check on her. Carol tells him she and Merle are mostly over it, and Izzy’s seems to be bouncing back pretty quickly. She tells him kids are resilient. He doesn’t know anything about that, he’s just glad to hear she’s feeling better. 

He spends the day laying on the couch when he’s not in the bathroom, and as if feeling like the hind leg of hell isn’t bad enough he still can’t get Rick out of his head. He tortures himself plenty and not only with his blue eyes and how drop-dead sexy he is when he smiles, but also over the fact that he’s going to have to see him again at some point to return his daughter’s clothes. He’s dreading it as much as he’s looking forward to it, more if he’s being honest, and he doesn’t get why he’s making such a big deal out of it anyway.

By Sunday he’s feeling more like his old self. He’s able to eat some scrambled eggs but he doesn’t push it any further than that. He’s back to work on Monday, and on Wednesday he goes to his brother’s for supper and finally gets the pork chops and potatoes he’s been thinking about since last Friday. His thoughts have insisted on wandering back to Rick all week so time with his family is a welcome distraction for him.

Until it’s not. 

They’re sitting around the living room after supper and Izzy is snuggled up on his lap, her favorite seat in the house when he’s there. 

“Uncle Dawyl?”  
“Yeah, girl?”  
“We forgot my tiawa at the nice man’s house.”  
Now that he thinks about it, he left it on the bathroom counter.  
“I guess we did. I’ll be sure an’ get it when I take his girl’s clothes back to him.”

He’s grateful when Merle changes the subject to a hunting trip he wants them to take next month. But his niece isn’t done. 

“Uncle Dawyl?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Do ya love the nice man?”  
_“What?”_  
“Do ya love the nice man?” She sounds genuinely curious and the look on her face says she’ll wait as long as she has to for an answer. Merle and Carol both look like they’ll wait that long too. He can feel his face heating up.  
“Nah, I don’t. I don’t even know ‘im. Where’d that come from anyway?”  
“The nice man gave ya candy. Jack in my cwass gave Annie candy an’ now she’s his girlfwiend.”

Merle’s got a real smug look on his face, and Carol has her arms crossed and one eyebrow arched. They could help him out, they know they could, but for some reason, they’d rather watch him squirm.

“That’s not ‘xactly how it works,” he tries to explain, but she’s not finished.  
“An’ ya said ya have to have a bowfwiend that’s old like you. An’ he’s old ‘cause he’s a daddy.”  
“Yeah, he’s a daddy, which means there’s prob’ly a mama. An’ I don’t think the mama would like it too much if somebody else loved him.” Surely she’ll understand that.  
Nope.  
“But the nice man maked ya smile. Mama says she smiles ‘cause she loves me. Ya maked the nice man smile too so maybe he loves you.”

He might have to rethink this girl being the apple of his eye.

“Love an’ boyfriends an’ girlfriends ain’t the only thing that makes people smile. I smile at lotsa stuff.”  
“Nuh-uh. Sometimes ya got a gwumpy face.”  
He gives her a narrow side-eye and she points to his face.  
“See? Like that.”

Carol gets up from the other end of the couch. “You know, Daryl…” Thank fuck she’s finally decided to save him. “I washed up his daughter’s pajamas and I boxed up some of the cookies I made. I was going to drop them off at the sheriff’s station but since you’re going to pick up her tiara…” 

Or throw him to the lions. Whichever. The smile on her face tells him she knows exactly what she’s doing.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

He waits until Friday after work, and not because he’s as nervous as a prize turkey in November. Well, that’s not the only reason. He figures if he was home last Friday night then he’ll probably be there tonight. He has considered that he would probably have better luck catching up with him at the station, but there’s still a good chance he’ll make an ass of himself and he’d rather not do that in front of most of the sheriff’s department. That’s what he tells himself anyway, and it’s mostly true.

Even though he knows it won’t make a difference either way he goes home to shower first. He pulls a t-shirt out of the drawer, then reconsiders. He’s never given a single fuck what people think of him and he still doesn’t. Except maybe he does a little. No reason for Rick to think he looks like a dirty bum all the time. He puts on his best jeans and one of only two button-ups he owns that don’t have the sleeves ripped out, the blue denim one that Carol says brings out his eyes. Not that that’s going to make a difference either. 

For the record, he’s aware of how completely ridiculous he’s being, going to all this trouble for the thirty seconds it will take to ring the doorbell, return the stuff, and leave.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rick hasn’t had a Friday off in he doesn’t know how long. He takes advantage of the warm, sunny day and spends most of it working around the yard. By late afternoon he’s long since come out of his t-shirt and is wearing a thin sheen of sweat. He picks up the shirt and throws it over his shoulder, thinking he’ll stop and have a beer, cool off a little, then he’ll go back out and work on clearing the weeds and leaves from the front flower bed until dark.

He’s just walked in the back door when the doorbell rings so he keeps walking to the front. When he looks through the peephole he smiles. He’s been hoping he would come to the house and not the station. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if he had, but he wants to talk to him and that would be harder to do with the prying eyes and ears of all the other deputies. 

He opens the door with a warm smile. If it weren’t for the same intense, blue eyes (that pick up the blue in his shirt quite nicely he thinks) looking back at him he might think it was somebody else entirely. 

“Hey. Daryl, right?” As if this man and his name haven’t been running around in his head all week.

“Yeah, hey Rick. I...uh...wanted to return your girl’s clothes an’ thank ya again for all your help. Sorry again about the mess.” He waves a finger in the general direction of the...incident. “Oh, an’ Izzy’s mama wanted me to give ya these as a thank ya. Some cookies she made.” To his own ears it sounds like he’s rambling and thinks he should probably shut up. 

“Oh yeah, thanks for bringin’ them back.” As if he hadn’t been looking forward to it all week. “I told ya it was nothin’ and there’s no need to apologize. Is she feelin’ better?”

“Yeah, she is. Thanks.” 

Last week he’d worn dirty work clothes, his face had been smudged with oil or grease, and his hair had hung in dirty loose strands around his face. With those eyes, the slightly unkempt scruff on his chin, the broad shoulders, and a pair of very manly biceps it had given him a rough and rugged appearance that to his surprise he’d found very appealing. He couldn’t have imagined he could be any sexier but freshly showered and in clean clothes, he decides that he’s very wrong. He’s no doubt extremely easy on the eyes. 

But the thing that had been even more appealing to Rick was the sweet and tender way he’d taken care of the little girl. Even now his face softens when he mentions her. It’s clear that beneath the rough and unrefined exterior this man has a real soft spot for her and that tells him all he needs to know. 

He’d been instantly attracted to him, so much so that he was _thisclose_ to asking for his number before his niece got sick. He knows it’s possible, even likely from the looks of him, that he’s already spoken for. Still, he figures there’s only one way to find out.

A bead of sweat escapes his curls and rolls down his neck to his collarbone. When he takes his shirt from his shoulder and uses it to wipe it away he sees Daryl’s eyes darken just a bit and he’s chewing the inside of his lip. Interesting. He swipes the balled-up shirt across his chest once, absentmindedly of course, and watches Daryl’s Adam’s apple dip once as he swallows hard. The way the tip of his ear peeking out of his hair pinks up is pretty damn cute. Very interesting.

He’s been wondering all week if he should, and now he sees no reason why he shouldn’t. 

“Ya wanna come in for a beer? I mean, if you’ve got time?” 

Daryl has to pry his eyes away from the shirt in Rick’s hand and it takes a second for the question to fully register because this guy is killing him. When it finally does it takes him another few seconds to convince himself that he heard him right. He wants to, hell yeah he wants to, but he probably shouldn’t. Rick’s probably just being friendly and while he has nothing against having friends, he knows he wants more than that. He knows if he accepts his invitation he’s likely only setting himself up for disappointment.

He should say no, he knows he should. But he hasn’t gotten around to learning how to do that yet so instead he nods and says, “Yeah, I got time,” and for the second time in a week he follows Rick into the house.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Shit, he’s as nervous as he’s ever been as he follows Rick back to the kitchen. His bow-legged swagger is driving him to distraction and he could swear his hands are shaking a little when Rick turns to take the clothes and the box of cookies from him. 

“Be sure and thank Izzy’s mama for me. Cookies are so much better than the Halloween cooties ya brought last time. I thought I was gonna have to live in the bathroom.”

He’s smiling at least, and Daryl feels only slightly more at ease. “Shit, man, you too? I didn’t make it 24 hours ‘fore it took me down. I’m real sorry.”

Rick waves away the apology. “Nah, I was only kiddin’. When you’ve got kids ya can expect to get whatever they come down with.” He pulls two beers from the fridge, pops the top on both of them, and hands one to Daryl. At the mention of his kids, the other man glances back toward the living room and Rick answers before he can even ask. “They’re at their mom’s, we share custody. They won’t be home until next week.” 

Daryl feels himself relax. He’s divorced. That still doesn’t mean he’s got any kind of a shot, but there isn’t a mama. Not here anyway. He looks back at Rick. He’s leaning against the counter and Daryl’s not sure how he makes sweaty and dirty look so damn sexy. His sweat-soaked curls are even curlier and a few are hanging limply around his temples. His upper body is long and lean, more muscular than he would have thought. He can’t tell a thing about his lower body other than it looks damn good in a pair of dirty jeans. It occurs to him that last week Rick was put together and he was the dirty mess.

Rick takes a long drink from his bottle but doesn’t lower it. It’s resting against his bottom lip and he’s looking at Daryl in a way that nobody has ever looked at him before. He’s damn near got a twinkle in his eye and he feels the heat seep into his belly. There must be at least five feet of empty space between them but Rick might as well be standing right beside him because suddenly the kitchen seems as small as the bathroom and it feels about ten degrees warmer. The air in the room seems to have shifted and there’s an unmistakable tension between them that grows heavier the longer they stare at each other until Daryl thinks he could reach out and touch it.

Rick’s looking at him much the same way he did the other night. Like he’s the pretty princess. And while Daryl may not know fuck all about the subtleties of flirting, right now Rick’s gaze is so intense that there’s no mistaking what’s behind it. Rick feels it too and he feels like an idiot for missing it the first time. He might be slow but he’s catching on.

Rick watches him closely. He seems a little more relaxed than he did the other night but it’s clear that he’s still unsure and that he’s probably not very good with this type of thing, and Rick thinks it’s absolutely adorable. And honestly, he’s never thought he’s very good at it either but he knows what he wants and he’s pretty sure Daryl wants it too. 

“Would ya want to go out with me sometime, Daryl?”

His question is the last thing he was expecting but the answer is simple. _Yeah, I would. That’s exactly what I want_, he thinks, and he’ll say it out loud just as soon as he finds his voice but for now, all he can manage is a blinking stare because he is who he is, after all. Knowing that it’s mutual and hearing Rick’s question doesn’t keep him from standing there looking dumbfounded that he asked. 

“We don’t have to go out, we can stay in...maybe throw something on the grill...or order in...watch a movie…”

He realizes that Rick takes his silence for indecision and he wonders if he’s fucked it all up. 

“Daryl…?”

He’s waiting and Daryl knows he needs to answer him before he really does fuck it up. If he lives to be a hundred he’ll never figure out where he got the balls to do it, and in hindsight, he realizes a simple “yes” would have been fine, but when he fucks something up he tends to fuck it up all the way, so instead he steps slowly into Rick’s space and kisses him.

To his surprise, Rick kisses him back. Holy shit does he kiss him back and Daryl’s not even sorry when his hips grind softly against him. Well, maybe a little sorry because he didn’t have a semi-boner before his hips took on a life of their own. 

Rick pulls away and Daryl worries that the chubby might be a deal-breaker. He’s a little breathless (which Daryl thinks must be a good sign) when he says, “I’ve been workin’ in the yard all day. I really need a shower.”

Daryl figures as long as he’s trying out his new balls he may as well go for broke. At least he guesses that’s what he figures because he can’t think of any other reason he would say it. “If ya need somebody ta wash your back I’m glad ta help.” 

Rick’s gaze is intense and Daryl’s sure he’s gone too far until the other man smiles softly. “Alright. It’ll be nice not to have to do it myself for a change.” 

Wait. What? He’s only kidding. Well, mostly kidding. He’d only meant to flirt, new balls and all that. He never thought Rick would take him seriously and now what? They haven’t even gone out yet. Or stayed in. How the hell did he go from being terrified to come over here to offering to wash this man’s back all in the span of an hour? 

This time he really should say no and he knows it. He wants it, there’s no doubt about that, but if this is going to become something he’s not sure that this should be the way it starts. Assuming it turns into more than a shower, and who is he kidding because they both know one of them is going to drop the soap, what if Rick changes his mind? Decides there’s no point in going out with him? Then it would be nothing more than a hookup, and he doesn’t care much for those. 

Rick must sense his panic because he takes his hand and says, “Don’t worry, Daryl, whether you wash my back or don’t I’m still gonna want ya to go out with me.” He leans in and kisses him softly, and when Daryl feels his hand slide around his waist to settle on his ass he gives up completely on the notion of ever learning to say no. For the second time in a week, he follows Rick to the bathroom.

Just because he doesn’t care for hookups doesn’t mean he rules them out entirely.

Rick turns the shower on then proceeds to turn Daryl on more than he’s ever been turned on in his life while the water heats up. He helps him out of his shirt and his lips and tongue are everywhere while he works to get his pants undone. To be fair Daryl is pretty handsy himself. It all feels a little surreal to Daryl, standing in a cocoon of steam with a man he’s just met, both of them naked and hard. It feels very intimate, almost too intimate, and he realizes he’s never felt that with anybody else. 

He’s never showered with another man before either, and he’s certainly never imagined showering with a virtual stranger, but surprisingly he’s not nervous at all. Anxious and horny, yes, but he’s done with being nervous. When they step under the water and Rick closes the curtain, then puts his hands against the wall on either side of Daryl’s head and kisses the life out of him he stops thinking about it altogether. 

Daryl breaks the kiss and walks Rick back under the spray, running his hands over his curls to get them wet. There are only two bottles sitting on the corner of the tub, a large blue one and a smaller purple one with a unicorn on the front. He turns Rick to face away from him, picks up the blue bottle, and gets started. 

“I don’t really expect ya to wash my back. Ya don’t have to,” Rick says, but it’s hard to miss the fact that he’s enjoying it. 

“Said I’s gonna an’ I’m a man a my word,” Daryl insists, and Rick doesn’t argue.

He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long time since anybody has done this, but it’s never felt this good before. Daryl’s large hands are work-rough and calloused in places, coarse yet so smooth, leaving a pleasant tingle as they glide across his back, sides, and upper arms. He takes time to knead the muscles in his shoulders and neck and Rick is almost ashamed of the low moan that slips out. Almost. 

Daryl drags his hands down his back and keeps going until he’s smearing soap across his ass, then cupping his cheeks firmly. His dick jumps when he traces his finger right up the center, softly and slowly, then dips in between, grazes his entrance once, then it’s gone again. He feels the hot water hit his back when Daryl adjusts the showerhead long enough to rinse the soap away, only to be replaced by his lips, his teeth, and his tongue. He hears him pop the top of the bottle again and while he’s busy with open-mouthed kisses his hand slips around and down, sliding up and down over his balls until his thick fingers finally wrap around his stiff length and glide all the way to the tip. 

It’s suddenly too much and Rick takes his hand and turns around, kissing him deeply, then tells him, “Your turn. Turn around.”

Of course, he doesn’t say no.

After a bit of awkward finagling, Daryl faces the wall, bracing his hands against it. Rick soaps his hand and does the same for Daryl that Daryl had done for him, all the while admiring his broad shoulders, the way his torso tapers to a slim waist, and the firm cheeks of his ass. His ass is where he lingers the longest, and when Daryl’s right hand drops down in front of him he watches his bicep flexing slightly. 

He reaches around and softly bats his hand away. “Let me help you with that.” Daryl’s erection is thick and long, hot under his palm as he wraps his slender fingers around him. He strokes him slowly, almost teasingly, while he uses his other hand to slick his own length with soap.

Daryl’s hips jerk when he feels Rick’s cock slip between his ass cheeks. He slides it back and forth along his entrance in time with his hand and Daryl drops his head to rest on his outstretched arm. A few more strokes and he can’t take it anymore. He reaches down and closes his hand over Rick’s, squeezes and strokes once, and says, “Don’t help me too much.”

Rick moves away from him and swats him lightly on the ass. “Stay where you are. Be right back.” He steps out of the shower and closes the curtain, then leaves the bathroom. He isn’t gone more than a minute, and when he gets back in he lays a foil packet on the built-in soap dish and pops the top on a much smaller bottle.

Daryl sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Rick’s finger, cool and slick, glide over his entrance then start circling slowly. He shifts his feet to widen his stance just as it slips in. In and out, a little deeper each time, while Rick peppers his neck and shoulder with open-mouthed kisses and the occasional nip of his teeth. He’s so focused on the steady push-pull and the heat gathering low in his belly that it surprises him when Rick speaks.

“Are ya sure about this, Daryl?” He assumes it’s a given where their impromptu shower is leading, but he needs to be sure they’re on the same page. 

“Yeah, feels good.” As if to prove it, he presses his ass against Rick’s hand, driving his finger deeper.

“I’m glad it feels good,” he mouths against his neck, “but that’s not what I meant. Are ya sure this is what ya want?”

“I always bottom, Rick,” he tells him, sure this time that that’s what he means.

“Shit, I should’ve asked ya that before. Sorry, I got a little distracted. That’s still not what I meant though.”

Son of a bitch. He’s pretty sure if Rick had held the q&a portion of the evening before he’s standing there with his dick leaking and Rick’s finger in his ass he might be able to follow the conversation. As it is, he’s got nothing. Talk about a distraction. 

Rick tries again. “I’m pretty sure we both know where this is goin’. I need to know that you’re okay with that.”

Daryl turns to look at him over his shoulder and with as much sincerity as he can manage, what with Rick’s finger up his ass and his dick leaking and all, tells him “If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be here.” 

And Rick believes him. He doesn’t think Daryl’s the type of guy to say it if he doesn’t mean it. Satisfied that there will be no regrets, and with the knowledge that Daryl is, in fact, a bottom, he resumes his task. 

Daryl whispers a shaky _yes_ when Rick slips in two fingers this time. He’s not moving faster, it’s not a race to the finish line, but there’s an urgency as he works him open that has Daryl rocking his hips in time with Rick’s fingers. When Rick twists his wrist just right his cock twitches hard and a sharp spike of heat between his thighs has him clenching around his fingers. The fingers of his free hand dig into Daryl’s hip, he breathes out a quiet _yeah_, then adds a third. 

Daryl reaches down and squeezes the base of his cock but doesn’t dare move his hand. It’s been way too long since he’s had anything but his own hand and he’s well aware that there are still all kinds of ways he can embarrass himself, one of those ways being to nut all over the nice man’s bathtub faucet before they even get started. 

He breathes a quiet grunt, and with a shaky voice says, “C’mon, Rick. Please.” He’s not entirely happy with how much like begging it sounds, but Rick immediately withdraws his fingers and reaches for the condom so if it gets him what he really wants he can live with it.

He can hear Rick fumbling with the packet, a mumbled _shit_, then the shower curtain is pulled back and he hears Rick yank the towel from the towel bar. While he’s wrestling with the condom Daryl shifts his stance again but his feet can only go so far apart in the narrow space, so he props his right foot up on the corner of the tub. 

Rick finally gets the condom on, slicks it up with more lube, steps behind Daryl and lines himself up. Only he’s not exactly lined up so he tries again. Not quite.

Daryl arches his back and tilts his hips up a little trying to help as much as he can. It makes it harder to hold his balance and his hand slips a little on the slick tile. They’re pretty much the same height so he doesn’t get what the problem is unless there’s some kind of trick to it they don’t know about.

Rick bends his knees a little and there, finally. He presses in slowly, his breath stuttering a little when the rim catches as he slips past that first bit of resistance. And that’s it. That’s as far as he can go. He stands taller but the angle is all wrong and he slips out again. The water is quickly getting cold and Rick breathes out a frustrated sigh. 

Daryl turns carefully to face him. His right hip is a little stiff from propping his foot on the tub and his left leg feels a bit like jello from holding all of his weight on it. “Ain’t as easy as they make it look in porn, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” He winds an arm around Daryl’s waist and pulls him close, his mostly stiff length pressing against Daryl’s own flagging erection, quickly bringing both back to life. Daryl presses even closer as Rick kisses along his jaw, nips at his earlobe, then speaks low in his ear. “If I can’t have ya here, can I have ya in my bed?”

Daryl gives him a crooked smile. “Ya can have me anywhere ya want me, long as it ain’t in this tub.” He shuts the water off then steps out after Rick. They don’t bother to dry off, and for the first of what Daryl hopes is many times, he follows Rick to his bedroom.

It’s as sparsely furnished as the living room but he doesn’t get much further with his assessment than that because Rick nearly pounces the second they’re through the door. He’s all mouth and hands as he walks him over to the bed on the other side of the room. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that they’re done with foreplay and Daryl settles himself against the pillow, shamelessly spreading his legs in an overt invitation as if he’s been there a hundred times before.

Rick doesn’t hesitate to climb up on the bed and settle himself between his legs as if they haven’t just met and barely know each other. And he’s okay with that. He knows enough to know that he wants to learn everything about him, but right now all he can think about is getting to know him in the Biblical sense. 

He stretches out over him and kisses him deeply, rolling his hips firmly against him until Daryl repeats his earlier plea, “C’mon, Rick.” 

Rick stretches to reach the nightstand drawer, fishing around until he pulls out yet another bottle of lube. He’s not judging, he’s got plenty of it stashed here and there in his own house even if he does only use it on himself. He’s just glad he didn’t have to go back to the bathroom to get it. Rick grabs the other pillow and he lifts his hips so he can slide it under him. He slicks himself up again and Daryl sighs softly when he wipes the excess over and around his hole. His finger dips in and out several times, whether for good measure or just to tease him he has no idea but he’s not complaining either way. 

Rick scoots closer and Daryl watches as he takes his dick in his hand and lines himself up, and he had no idea that would be such a turn-on. He slips in easily and this time when he presses forward he bottoms out. Rick moans softly, Daryl’s groan more like a low growl from somewhere deep in his chest, and while he appreciates that Rick is holding himself still in the interest of his comfort, he’s comfortable enough that he’d rather he fuck him already and he tells him as much. “C’mon, Rick. Fuck me.”

Rick damn near leers at him and pulls almost all the way out, then bottoms out again. Over and over, slow deep thrusts. He watches himself fucking into him, both fascinated and turned on beyond belief at the sight of Daryl stretched around him. 

Daryl’s a little jealous that he can’t see what Rick’s seeing. Still, the steady, perfect snap of his hips, the odd mix of concentration and pleasure on his face, and the way his eyes drift closed every few strokes while his tongue darts out to wet his lips is something to see. He grabs the backs of his knees and pulls them back as far as they’ll go, willing Rick to go deeper and he does. 

Rick pulls Daryl’s feet up onto his shoulders and holds onto his legs as he thrusts harder. Daryl wonders if he’s holding on to keep himself from floating away because he damn sure feels like he might. A minute later he lets his legs fall and he leans over him, propping himself on his elbows and nipping at his bottom lip. Daryl lifts his hips with every stroke, then wraps his legs around Rick, pressing his heels into his ass in an attempt to take him even deeper. 

“Shit, Daryl, it’s too fuckin’ good. I’m not gonna last much longer.” 

Rick’s pounding into him now and heat burns white-hot high up between his thighs and low in his belly. When he feels the heavy pull in his balls he knows he can’t hold out much longer either. Rick reaches between them and strokes him in time with his thrusts.

“Rick...I can’t…fuck...I gotta cum...”

“Then cum.” He tightens his fist around him, drops his hips and slams into him.

“Fuck!” Daryl presses his head back into the pillow and his hips lift off the bed as his orgasm barrels into him. Rick slows up only a little, fucking him through it with firm, deep thrusts and he never takes his eyes off of his face. He’s damn sexy when he’s greasy and dirty, hot as hell when he’s cleaned up, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be more gorgeous than he is like this. Watching Daryl come undone is all it takes. With a final, deep thrust and a stuttered groan, he spills into the condom. 

He drops his forehead onto Daryl’s shoulder, his strokes becoming shallower and slower until they stop completely. They lay still for a long minute, then Rick lifts his head and kisses him softly. He finally lets himself slip out and smiles at the soft grunt from Daryl when he does. He gets up only long enough to dispose of the condom and wash his hands. When he comes back he finds Daryl exactly as he left him and stretches out on his back beside him.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe Halloween cooties aren’t so bad,” Rick says.  
“Pfft. An’ I’m thinkin’ ya lost your mind. They suck.”  
“Yeah, but if it wasn’t for those cooties you wouldn’t be here right now,” Rick reminds him.  
“Fair enough,” Daryl agrees.  
Rick reaches over and uses his finger to trace a very distinct pattern on Darl’s thigh.  
“What was that?”  
Rick does it again and explains this time. “Circle. Circle. Dot. Dot. Now you’ve had your cootie shot.”  
“The hell?”  
Rick laughs softly. “I’ve got a seven-year-old daughter who swears by that particular vaccine.”  
“Yeah? Ya had your cootie shot?”  
“Of course.”  
“Then it don’t work.”  
“Of course not, but I’m not tellin’ her that.”

They lay in silence for a bit and Daryl’s thinking that maybe Izzy’s right. Maybe it really is as simple as a smile and a piece of candy. Okay, maybe not that simple but still, he’s sure now that he’s been making it harder than it needs to be. He might not love Rick now, but he thinks he could. He knows he likes him an awful lot. And he has a pretty good idea that Rick will keep him smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just need to talk to a four-year-old so you can understand life. 
> 
> Get your cootie shot, kids.
> 
> Thanks again to gneebee for the fantastic story idea. I hope it turned out as good as you made it sound.  
Thank you all so much! I'd love for you to leave a kudo or review, although the silent reads are appreciated too. :)  
Have a safe and Happy Halloween! xo


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